


Amnesiac

by PixelatedRose



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Ghostbur and Wilbur are BOTH here!!, Hurt No Comfort, ghost boy not good with memory :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28719690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelatedRose/pseuds/PixelatedRose
Summary: Ghostbur goes through the resurrection ritual and meets a very familiar person.Just a lil angsty Ghostbur oneshot :)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Amnesiac

Ghostbur felt his skin burning and he screamed at the sensation. It’d been too long since he’d felt anything- even something like pain- and part of him almost enjoyed it.

He vaguely felt eyes on him as the world started to fade away. He heard people talking in low tones, heard them discussing his pain like it was an experiment.  _ It was, after all _ . He swears the last thing he saw was Phil as his old father tried to hold him, even now.

And then Ghostbur’s world went blank.

And...Then he was...Back.

Where…?

He felt like he should know this place, a warm hilltop with dry grass scratched over it, the sky a cloudy and warm ash color, though it almost made the area look dead.

He turned slightly and saw two people standing side by side. One looked...Familiar in a way that Ghostbur didn’t like and couldn’t place. One of them reminded him of Friend- oh...Friend...Ghostbur missed Friend...But...Where did Friend go again? He thinks he should find him. Maybe these two can help him!!

He called out to the two figures cheerily, a wave in his hand. “Hello there!! I’m looking for Friend, do you think you can help me?” The two people turned and something caught in Ghostbur’s throat.

That look.

No no no no…

No that’s gone.

He’s gone.

That look is supposed to be dead.

Eyes so rich of brown they looked red, unkempt hair falling over a tired gaze, the harshness in the glare, a snarl quirking his mouth in a horrible way.

Why was Ghostbur there again? He feels like he should remember...No he does remember- no no no he  _ does _ …

…

But he doesn’t  _ want _ to remember, does he?

* * *

Ghostbur gasped in a breath of air. The blue stains around the slash in his sweater had grown, and he had blue all over his hands.

Wait…

“Dammit!!!” Ghostbur pouted and slammed his hand against the grass. “W-why- why didn’t it-'' He began angrily marching his way over, back to the altar, his still ghostly form skipping every few steps and floating above the ground breathily. “Phil, why didn’t it work?!” He asked, nearing the lapis and gold amalgamation of ‘his past’. “I-I- I’m still!! Phil I’m still here a-and I’m still a ghost, and Everything was dark for a bit, and then- then there was- was-” What was there? Where had he gone? What had he seen? What had happened again? Why was he so mad?

_ No! _ Something in Ghostbur scolded him.  _ No, this  _ isn’t  _ happening now! You’re trying to get Alivebur back, and you’re mad because it didn’t work. _ Tommy- when had Tommy gotten there? Whatever- Tommy clasped some blue into Ghostbur’s hand, he said something along the lines of ‘breath’ and the ghostly boy watched with slowly puffed breaths as the translucent substance began to turn the color of the sky, deepening until it matched the deep of the lapis behind him.

When Ghostbur had calmed- thank blue- he was then assaulted with questions and soft panic wrapped in frustration.

“Why didn’t it work?”

Ghostbur stammered. “I-I don’t-”

“What did we do wrong?”

Ghostbur looked sideways. “Maybe-”

“What did you see?”

Ghostbur tugged at his sweater sleeves. “I-It was hard to make out-”  _ You mean you can’t remember… _

Everyone was talking all around him at once and Ghostbur wished, now more than ever, that Friend was there. Friend was kind. Friend was calm. Friend never yelled, never complained, never shouted. Friend was safe…

Ghostbur floated quietly up to Phil and tugged lightly in his coat. “P-Phil…”

Phil turned away from the arguing and Ghostbur pretended he didn’t notice the pain behind his kind smile. “Yeah, Wil? It’s alright, bud, we’re figuring it out-”

“N-no, Phil, I just…” Ghostbur glanced every which way, the noises around him seemed to be amplifying, and suddenly the spacious hole felt suffocating. “I-I think- I want to- I think maybe…” He was having trouble with his words now, why? Why was he so bad at being anything except a shadow of a person, why was he so bad at being alive, at remembering things, at doing things right? He was almost silent when he spoke, his words as much of a ghost as himself. “I want to find Friend first…”

Phil smiled kindly and nodded, ruffling the ghost’s whispering hair, small stars of ethereal light snowing out of it. “Yeah, we can find Friend first, Wil.”

They searched for almost an hour or more- finding one sheep or another, wild or caged- waiting for one of them to approach the blue that Ghostbur offered, the misty boy never quite finding the right sheep, never quite finding  _ Friend _ .

Half way through the search, his mind alive with static noises and worry and constantly growing panic, Ghostbur’s vision went black again.

The static fluctuated and made Ghostbur’s head hurt and his stomach nauseous. At one point the noise was so loud he fell to his knees and cried out loud, covering his ears as they began to ring loudly, accompanying the symphony of dread and static.

Then all at once it was gone.

“Why...are you here…?”

Ghostbur looked up at the voice- it sounded like  _ his _ voice, but there was no mistake that it... _ wasn’t _ . And when he met those brown eyes- eyes so rich they looked like rust- he felt like he could cry. Something about the way they glared- tired, worn, pained, angry- felt like an ache in Ghostbur’s chest. Like he should remember something, like his soul could remember it but something was blocking it back.

Ghostbur looked back at the inky black below his hands. “I-I...don’t…” He swore he could almost see his reflection in the black, see his pale, glowing eyes shedding specs of light like a cartoon fairy. “I can’t remember…” He said, tears beginning to brim his eyes. The static was growing louder, louder,  _ louder _ \- there was so much noise and so suddenly memories upon memories poured into his mind, too quick for him to recognize them, and it  _ hurt _ and the noise grew louder and louder and louder and there was no escape and-

Ghostbur was in a dark room. He looked around for a moment before hearing a voice behind him. He recognized the voice like his own, but colder and older.

“Why are you here?”

There was the noise of static building up in his mind.

_ He couldn’t remember- _

“No.” The word had tumbled out of his own mouth and Ghostbur froze slightly. He calmed his brain as best he could, the static retreating.  _ You’re here to bring back Alivebur… _ Ghostbur took a breath and turned to face the voice that was so like his own in horrible ways. “I-I’m here to bring back Alivebur…”

Rust eyes narrowed at him. “Wh-”

Static crashed down onto Ghostbur like an anvil, and the whispery boy screamed from the pain and noise.

And then he was back.

Back?

Where had he gone?

No he hadn’t gone anywhere, he was looking for Friend.

* * *

Eret had found Friend, and once again the ritual was reenacted.

Again, Ghostbur felt like his very being was ablaze and he screamed.

Again, the last thing Ghostbur remembered before it all went black once more, was Phil still trying to hold his old son in his arms.

And Ghostbur was back again.

It was the same hill, same grass, and- same rusty eyes…

“Hello.” Ghostbur breathed.

“Hello…” Wilbur responded.

There was an air of pause as they stared at one another, a soft breeze blowing Wilbur’s large coat and ruffling Ghostbur’s hair. The ghost boy seemed to snap out of his trance and took a confident step forward. “I-I’m supposed to bring you home! You’re Alivebur, right?”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed painfully. “I don’t want to go back. I died for a reason, you know.”

Ghostbur took another step forward. “I know! I think...I-I’m not really sure, actually- but all I know is that you  _ have _ to come back!”

Wilbur’s rust eyes filled with hurt- why was he so upset? “No, you don’t get it! I  _ can’t _ come back. I’m  _ dead _ for a  _ reason _ .”

Ghostbur didn’t understand. Wilbur was always so bent on chaos- wouldn’t he jump at the chance to come back and cause more? He took another step forward. “But they  _ need _ Alivebur!! I can’t do anything by myself! Don’t you want to come back and even see them?”

Wilbur was silent and he turned away from the specter of himself.

Ghostbur took this as an invitation to continue, placing another foot forward. “You should want to come back, right? Don’t you want to see Fundy, or Phil? Tommy and Tubbo and Niki- You’re Wilbur!! You’re more him than I am, you should want to-”

Ghostbur missed the way with every word, every step closer, Wilbur tensed and flinched. He wouldn’t have known the way every horrible memory flooded his reflection’s mind, wouldn’t know the torturous regret that flickered and swam endlessly in his head.

Flames sprouted around the Rusty-eyed man as he shouted. “ _ I can’t go back- not  _ **_ever_ ** _ again _ !!!” Wilbur screamed. “You just don’t  _ fucking _ get it, do you?!” He laced his hands into his hair. “You weren’t there, oh  _ you weren’t there _ !”

Ghostbur stepped back, watching his mirror pace. “B-but they need-”

Wilbur fumed. “THEY DON’T NEED  _ SHIT _ FROM ME!!” He pounded his fist against the stone wall- Since when were they underground? The walls were covered in writing and there was a button- oh… “I took  _ everything _ from them, Ghostbur. Do you not  _ think _ that  _ maybe _ this might hurt  _ more _ than it heals?! You fucking moron!!” He laughed his words and it send chills shivering down Ghostbur’s spine.

“I-I know the risks, but if you just-”

“If I just  _ what _ , Ghostbur?!” Wilbur shouted, though his eyes looked so pained and defeated, his body seemed to ache from the weight of memories. He seemed to be holding himself together with sewing thread spread thin as his voice wavered and small tears housed themselves in the corners of his eyes. “I  **_hurt_ ** them!!! What the fuck don’t you understand about that?!” Hands curled around his arms as he closed into himself, falling against the wall in despair. “I dragged them through shit and hell on earth, I pulled them into things  _ I _ should have fought, made them fight wars because I was  _ bored _ …” 

He shot off the wall and he spun, a smile concocted of pain and regret and twisted grief splattered across his face- it wasn’t whole,  _ he _ wasn’t whole- spreading his arms wide. “AND EVEN IN MY FUCKING  _ DEATH _ !! Even in my death I  _ continue _ to bring them nothing but  _ pain _ and  _ loss _ .” The fake smile had fallen from his face as he turned his head to Ghostbur. “I don’t  _ deserve _ to leave this hell. This cage is my fucking  _ home _ now and the torture I live in is my  _ birthright _ .”

“Wilbur, you don’t have to- You can come back with me…” Ghostbur offered. Wilbur scared him, but he looked so hurt...he looked so broken and so tired and sad, like he’d finally shattered and felt his grief after years and years of ignoring it. Like the part of him from before- the manic and mad part of him, bent on destruction and bloodlust- had dissipated, leaving a smoking, burning, ever suffering parallel that lived with the scorching regret of choices that were no longer his own.

Wilbur stared at the wall, the wooden button in the center plucked from the memory he was forced to relive most. “...No.”

Ghostbur’s heart stuttered. “N-no? But-”

Wilbur turned, rusty eyes full of guilt, regret, pain, and still yet a smile of melancholic hope graced his face- tears streaming and framing the scene. “They don’t deserve another me- they need you,  _ far _ more than they have ever needed me.” 

Ghostbur stumbled, ruble under his feet making his movement feel like quicksand and tar. “ W-wait- no, Wil, Wilbur- Wilbur hold- Wait, no, you don’t understand, no they  _ need _ -”

Schlatt was suddenly beside him and Ghostbur’s eyes shot to the ram-horned man. Wait- since when did he remember Schlatt?

“Give ‘em a message for me, yeah, Schlatt? Tell them to stop trying.” Wilbur asked somberly.

“Wait- You can’t just- Wilbur  _ wait _ !!” Ghostbur pleaded, his legs felt like tar as black tendrils held him away, and he fell over trying to reach his past.

Wilbur glanced sadly at his ghost. “Time to go home, now.”

Ghostbur shrieked. “ _ NO _ !!!”

Wilbur pressed the button.

* * *

Ghostbur woke up with a gasp. What the hell had happened? “H-hello?” He glanced down at his hands. His hands… “DAMMIT!!” The ritual must have failed again. He felt a cool wetness on his face as a breeze blew by. He was crying…

_ Why? _

Phil and the others filled him in on how Schlatt had spoken through his body instead. “Okay...Who’s Schlatt?” Ghostbur felt like he should know that name, but he didn’t...Even when they told him he drew nothing but blanks.

When they asked what happened to Ghostbur that time, the misty, blank-eyed boy couldn’t recall much of anything- just like the last time. But he did know that there was only one figure this time.

And that night, when he slept, he had nightmares and conversations with Wilbur, trying endlessly to bring him back, to tell him that his family needed them.

And in the morning, memory fuzzy, he always wondered why he was crying.

**Author's Note:**

> :D  
> This is honestly just a oneshot for now- but if you've read anything from my Starry Nights collection fic, this story might be added in there at one point too. :)  
> Anyway, thank you for reading Amnesiac!! and as always, Stay Fresh and Minty, Folks!


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